GBNaru: If I Were A Boy
by kiotsukatanna
Summary: /GBNaru Universe\ Most girls hate their body for some reason or other. Sakaye's reason is simply different than most.


**If I Were A Boy  
**

Summary: _Most girls hate their body for some reason or other. Sakaye's reason is simply different than most._

Words: 1821

Characters: FemSasuke (Sakaye), FemItachi (Ichiko), FemSuigetsu (Suri), MaleKarin (Ken), FemJuugo (Junko)

Warnings: None

Pairings: None

Disclaimer/Claimer: While the original Naruto characters do not belong to me, these GenderBender creations are mine. Do not steal them... EVER.

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_Set after Ichiko's death and before Killer Bee__

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_"If I were a Boy... even just for a day..."_

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Sometimes, Sakaye wished she had been born a boy.

The thought was strange, of course, considering the Uchiha's looks were commonly described as "the epitome of femininity," a flowery observation the kunoichi often scoffed at and abhorred, but even so, it was the way she felt and the thought crossed her mind often.

In fact, it was that very thought that bothered her now.

The dark-haired girl eyed her body distastefully in the mirror; the too wide hips, the toothpick waist, the long black – coal black, she thought with a sneer – hair, the sickeningly pale geisha-like face and heavy breasts that could stop any man in his tracks if she wished, and usually when she didn't.

Her dark, narrowed gaze slid down to the weight that tugged at her shoulders and pained the muscles of her back. The disgustingly ample gobs of fat and flesh jutted from her chest almost-mockingly, and Sakaye glared, the teeth of her jaw grinding together in a way that she knew couldn't be healthy for the bones and nostrils flaring furiously.

She turned her head away in revulsion. Oh, how much simpler it would have been had she been male, she couldn't help but think as she slipped on her reserved clothing, designed to keep her "perfect" figure from prying eyes.

No fan boys, no leering gazes, no unwanted advances, no expectations of a demure little girl who sat on the sidelines and waited to be saved, no raging emotions, no massacre...

Sakaye instantly halted in her actions. For a long moment, she only stared as her "delicate" hands tightened into fists on the dark shirt in their grasp, before resuming her motions once more so that she might pull the cloth over her head.

If only she had been a boy, her clan would have never been disappointed and returned to her sister, the first child initially intended to be clan heir. Sakaye would have never been ignored; _she_ would have been clan heir. Responsibility would have fallen to her. Her sister would have been free to fade in the background, free to relinquish the shinobi life; free even to marry, have children, live long and happy...

The youngest Uchiha fought back the heat in her eyes, jerking the capris up her legs with a little more force than necessary in her frustration. It was with displeasure that she noted how snugly they fit around her hips, further reminding her, mocking her of what she was, the extra chromosome within her that could have changed everything...

She shoved the button through its designated hole and released her grip, carefully flipping the hem of her shirt over the pant line and smoothing the cloth over her "perfect" figure. A sneer twisted her lips once more, and she tugged harshly at the bottom of her top, pulling the rest of the wrinkles out of sight.

Her dark, unhappy gaze returned to the mirror. She wished she didn't know that, in reality and in the past, her gender would have changed little. Perhaps she would have been made clan heir and perhaps less focus would have been placed on her sister. Yet even so, Sakaye knew – and again wished she didn't – that her sister would not have let her younger sibling bear so much, so young.

If anything the youngest Uchiha had been told about her sister had been true, then nothing would have changed. Her sister would have still become a kunoichi, if only for her sibling's sake, and climbed the shinobi ladder as quickly and efficiently as before. Perhaps the Uchiha would have returned the title of clan heir to her once more, and even if they had not, there was no doubting how things would have played out from that point.

Sakaye tightly shut her eyes and gritted her teeth; despising how helpless she felt, despising the weight that tugged at her shoulders and back, despising the looks and stares, despising the hips that painfully bumped door jambs and corners if she weren't careful, despising the disgustingly thin waist men went wild over, despising the swollen lips the color of blood, the revolting pale skin, the slanted eyes, the narrow shoulders, the awful long hair, black as an oil slick; anything and everything that made her "attractive," female... weak.

However, she despised even more that – deep down, very deep down within her – she loved it, _enjoyed_ it, relished it in a nauseating, shallow, distinctly _feminine_ sort of way.

She shuddered with revulsion, hating herself further.

She was a woman, a girl, a teenage girl. Really, there was nothing genuinely wrong with her wanting to touch herself up – a bit of lotion here, a hint of lipstick there, a vigorous wash of her hair so that it might keep its silk and shine – but Sakaye didn't see it that way.

She abhorred the part of her that rebelled at any thoughts connecting her to the male species; the one that squealed unhappily in disgust and horror at the thought, stubbornly stamping its foot in rejection at the idea; the one that wanted to wear skirts, despite their obvious impracticality; the one that internally sighed over pretty clothing in the windows and felt a gleeful sense of pride over the extra attention that followed her around... the teenage girl she could have been and perhaps still lurked within her.

The Uchiha scowled at the mirror, detesting how the action warped her lips in such a way that she almost seemed to be pouting.

"Sakaye?"

The expression instantly removed itself from her face so that only her traditional blank one remained. She carefully glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes locking on to the silver-haired girl behind her.

Suri quirked one eyebrow at the other girl's position – hands braced on the vanity before her and face unusually close to the glass surface above it.

The lavender-eyed girl smirked. "What? Checking your mascara?"

The extroverted teen blinked in surprise as her current leader's face darkened dramatically in an unexpected reaction. Suri vaguely puzzled over the uncommonly venomous glare as the Uchiha stalked past her and out of the room.

Normally, such a comment would garner a blank stare, perhaps a half-hearted glare if the girl were tired, but a full-blown Uchiha death glare? That was... unusual.

The water-based girl curiously stored the thought somewhere in the back of her brain and followed the displeased kunoichi.

As she strode down the hallway, Sakaye's expression grew darker, and her detestation grew with every window she passed that revealed her reflection and the impulse that sprung up within her to glance over said reflection to check for anything from a misplaced hair to a smear in her – very, very light, for she would allow no more than that – covering of makeup. The urge spurred her to quicken her gait and she only mildly acknowledged the sound of Suri's steps accelerating behind her to keep up.

On reaching the door at the end of the hall that held her other two companions, Sakaye slid open the panel, her usual, natural grace replaced with a forced, almost-masculine harshness she had a habit of taking up when her thoughts turned to such a path and when her detestation grew almost unbearable.

She carefully blanked her face once more, and with the same odd masculine tenor, Sakaye seated herself, silently waiting for Suri to take her place. She ignored Junko's careful, muted examination of her and Ken's surprise at her uncharacteristic lack of elegance. The observation darkened Sakaye's thoughts further and hatred tightened its grip within her.

"We leave out tomorrow," she said smoothly, flawlessly.

_'Perfectly,'_ her mind hissed venomously.

"The Eight-tails is close by and we must be prepared," she proceeded quietly.

Growing uncomfortable with her current seated position, Sakaye shifted so that she instead sat on her knees, much as she had done when she was younger, and the relieved satisfaction that flashed through Ken's eyes at the more feminine gesture did not escape her.

Internally, she soured at the emotion, wishing she had stayed as she was, but the other part, the one she detested so greatly, preened at it, proud that such a shift had garnered a reaction.

Sakaye beat back that half of her as the other, the one that toyed wistfully with ideas of a different set of chromosomes and an alternate past, sent a stab of envy through her as her gaze unwillingly flitted in Ken's direction.

"We will leave out early and as soon as possible," the Uchiha continued, standing up. "Be awake and ready or be left behind."

She ignored Suri's annoyed and muttered protests as she slid the wooden shoji shut behind her. It was with a weary, half-hearted, and annoyed reluctance that the kunoichi allowed her normal grace to slip back into place. She only paused once to give into her impulse and stare at the reflection that regarded her blankly from the window.

She observed it quietly for a long minute or so, her earlier hatred draining from her to become a faint simmering in the deep recesses of her heart. Gently, she placed a hand on the glass, fingers lightly tracing the opaque, temporary image upon it.

Momentarily, she pictured another face replacing it; that of a young man no older than her with a firm masculine jaw, broad shoulders, dark spiky hair cropped short – perhaps reaching no further than the nape of his neck or the lobes of his ears – slanted eyes like her own, but a pair of thin lips that could form a proper scowl and display a sternness her own could not.

For an instant, she could see it.

But then, a wave of revulsion consumed her at the thought and she ripped her hand away, the imagined visage removing itself from her mind. She shuddered, disgusted with her own reaction, and she glared at the traitorous hand and cursed herself, hated herself for desiring a different image; not the masculine one she claimed to want, but the one she truly wished and yearned for, the one she adamantly denied and rejected over and over again...

...the desire to be a girl, to truly feel like one, to be held, to hold, to love, to marry, to kiss, to be kissed, to be treated like something unique and special – like a princess even – to have children, to hold a child and care for it as a mother with the knowledge that it was of her creation.

That little hated part of her wanted all that and more. It taunted her endlessly with the images – love, marriage, _happiness_...

"_Weak_," she spat out in a choked voice, eyes shut and lips trembling. "So weak..."

And Sakaye ripped herself from that curséd window before anyone could see the truth.

Sometimes, Sakaye wished she were a girl.

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A/N: *nods* Yep, you read correctly. *grins* Lol. I'm rather unhappy with the beginning of this and Suri's POV came sort of out of nowhere. Then, reading this over, I'm afraid it seems a little confusing...

Not really one of my better pieces, though I did enjoy getting this thought process of Sakaye's out. I've known that Sakaye hates her body for quite some time now, but had never managed to find a way to properly explain the reasoning.

Anyway, this came about because I thought up the line where Sakaye is describing her chest: _"The disgustingly ample gobs of fat and flesh jutted from her chest almost-mockingly..."_ *grins* I had that sentence appear in my mind and just had to go from there.


End file.
